Protection
by usedusernames
Summary: Malcolm/Reese, slash, incest. Malcolm's about to leave for Harvard; he and Reese share his last night together.


Reese doesn't mind admitting he's an idiot.

He minds that his family doesn't stick up for him- like when Stevie calls him an idiot and Malcolm does nothing about it, things like that, but, on a whole, he knows he's less than brilliant. He knows he couldn't ever get into Harvard, for instance. He doesn't even know if he could get into college. Malcolm said he could, just last week, 'Reese, dumber kids than you have gone.'

But, then, Malcolm's been on a college kick since he got his acceptance letter. He's probably already pushing Jamie towards one of those big, stupid Ivy Leagues.

He can't see the car from where he is, laying atop the picnic table, but he knows it's loaded full of boxes, ready to be driven out in an hour. He thought that would be late to get started, but apparently it's a long way from their home. Not his home, anymore, really. Not Malcolm's, soon, either.

That thought makes him uncomfortable.

Still, the car is so packed with boxes that there are things spilling into the front seat. It's weird that it's so full, since Reese had packed from not only his things but his favored items from their shared possessions as well; it would seem impossible for them to have that much. And, really, it was impossible until recently.

It's their dad's fault: "I just want him to have everything he needs."

And then, cue Dad getting teary-eyed. Because, ooh, Harvard, blah blah blah.

Whatever.

Reese turns his head away from the car he can't see.

He's not sure what he's feeling right now.

A weird twist in his gut, a falling-up feeling, like when he goes on the elevator. Or that one elaborate plot that required him standing on the prongs of a forklift and Malcolm lifting him into the air. Except it's not the happy, adrenaline-lined feeling; it's empty and makes him feel...bad. His throat's tight. His eyes hurt.

He doesn't like thinking and he doesn't like feeling, and he's pretty sure Malcolm would have some long word for what he's thinking and feeling, which he also doesn't like.

Malcolm, who, at the moment, he likes thinking and feeling about least of all.

He fists up his hands and bangs them on the table in the way that has always bugged stupid, Harvard-boy _Malcolm_ as being animalistic. 'Really?' he'd ask, 'Jamie's poop flung everywhere isn't enough for you?'

At the thought of his brother, Reese reflexively pounds his fists harder against the splintered wood. Slivers embed themselves immediately; it figures even his passive-aggressive acts would hurt someone, if only himself.

He hates thinking about Malcolm. Hates feeling about Malcolm. Hates, hates, hates Malcolm.

Malcolm's pretty much on top of him before Reese notices.

"I just broke Mom's 20th anniversary present," Malcolm announces. Said without preamble like that it should sound odd, but Malcolm seems too calm, relaxed, for it to be out of place with anything.

Reese's hands still and he sits up fast, immediately thinking he should pummel his brother for catching him at something. It's only because he doesn't know what it is, exactly, that he's been caught at that he doesn't. "So?"

Malcolm crawls up onto the table and sits beside him.

"So, it can be our last time framing Dewey together before we're both out of the house for good." Malcolm smiles.

Reese gapes at him.

For a second the silence hangs.

Then, "You're just so glad you're leaving, aren't you?"

Malcolm frowns. "Is this going to be another one of those heart-to-heart things?"

Reese, glad for the opening, punches him in the stomach.

If Malcolm were sure that meant 'no', he'd be relieved for the hit. But he's pretty sure it means 'yes', which means he got a real punch in the gut right before the verbal equivalent of one. "Didn't we talk about this?" he asks when he has his air back.

"No. We said you had to come back, not that you were happier gone."

"You don't want me to be happy?" Malcolm asks, at once critical and confused.

Reese rarely gets to give Malcolm a look that says he's not getting it, so the glare he casts immediately puts Malcolm on edge. "If we're that awful maybe you shouldn't come back."

"I...what?

"You pick a school that's a billion miles away just so you won't have to see us, ever, and act like it's only because you_ have _to that you will after? Well, just don't."

Malcolm tightens. He doesn't like revealing weaknesses about himself, which he's sure this will lead to, and not just because it's _his_ family and in _his _family weaknesses are exploited. He doesn't like feeling that vulnerable, regardless of what's done with the vulnerability.

But the overwhelming truth is he cares less for Reese being mad at him than he does at possible exploitation. "Harvard's the only school I applied to," he says, as guarded as he can. "It has everything, it's exactly what I wanted, but it also gives out great financial aid. No way could we have afforded my other schools."

He almost gets up and walks away, just a few steps, just enough to get out of the range where being stared at makes him nervous. Because Reese is actually paying attention to him, and Reese doesn't do anything half-assed. Reese paying attention is Reese staring hard, inside you even if you aren't looking him in the eye. "Mom thought community college was good enough, anyway. Harvard's a great opportunity, but-" he stops.

But their mom thinks he could work his way up, no matter how low he started out. If they had an edge, they would take it, but if community college was the best they could start out with, so be it. He'd beat out those who went to Harvard regardless, and their mom really would prefer to have him close to home.

"It'd be four more years with people who've hated my guts since kindergarten," Malcolm continues, looking at the ground. He doesn't want to add the 'I couldn't do that.' to the end, so he doesn't. He particularly doesn't want to give that high school was only bearable because of his friends, which somewhat pathetically amounted only to Stevie and Reese. He doesn't want to say that as much as he wants to go, his one and only fear of attending college is that it'll be a repeat of his entire academic career, only thousands of miles from anyone to lean on. That that's enough to make him balk at everything he's dreamed of his whole life. He knows, uncomfortably and innately knows, that he couldn't make it he were on his own.

"If it wasn't Harvard, it wasn't anything," he concludes. "If you weren't..."

Supportive.

Understanding.

Loving.

Here.

If he didn't know whatever-the-hell it is they have could withstand the separation, he would drop Harvard in an instant. But that's too mushy, that's opening himself up too much, so this is as much as he's willing to give on the matter. This is the part where he starts pushing all the fears down as far as he can, all the way to the heels of his feet, building himself up with confidences part real and part not.-

He looks to Reese. He's never been good at reading anyone, but Reese is short words in block letters. He's always understood Reese; he knows that Reese understands everything, even what's gone unsaid. -

So this is also the part, where, if Reese twists this understanding to make fun of him, he brings up the fact that at least he's going. He's going and he's going to make something of himself, the hell is Reese doing with his life?

At least, it would be.

But Reese's scowl doesn't lighten up. "You'd go. I'd make you."

Which, Malcolm thinks, seems counterproductive considering Reese's complaint.

Malcolm rolls his eyes. "Whatever, you don't care about college."

"You do." Reese frowns deeper. He realizes at once that he wants Malcolm to leave as much as he doesn't. "But you still don't have to be such a buttwad about it." He turns and slugs Malcolm in the shoulder.

"I'll miss you, too," Malcolm says, playing it off as sarcastic as he rubs the ache from his arm.

Malcolm moves a little closer, until they're sitting right up against each other. Arm against arm. Hand against hand. Knee against knee. Packed together, but not annoyingly so. A strange side effect of being forced necessarily close through sharing a small house and smaller room is, instead of reveling freedom, being unnecessarily close outside of it.

Reese turns his head.

Malcolm turns his.

They look at each other, their faces close, their breath each other's.

Were Reese good with words, he'd say something.

He is good with action, so he ought to do something.

But the action in mind is so thoughtlessly wrong that even he knows the consequences.

"What?" Malcolm asks sharply. Then his face takes on a weird flush, not related to their usual rough-housing breathlessness. "What...What're you thinking about?"

Reese looks away. "I bet the only reason you don't get beat up more often is it's so easy it takes the fun out of it."

Malcolm must be in a good mood, to take two hits and _this _in stride. "Maybe."

"You could take the prissy, Shakespeare-loving Harvard guys, anyway."

"Thanks."

Malcolm looks up at the sky.

This, taking a moment to appreciate nature, shows he's happier than a smile ever could.

When he was by himself, the prospect of Malcolm being happy without him was horrible.

It still is, sort of. Looking at Malcolm's face; seeing Malcolm's happiness that is in no way his; being on the outside looking in on a place he usually belongs.

The feeling he gets when he passes his old house on his way to his and Craig's.

But he realizes now, in a way he couldn't when Malcolm wasn't right there beside him, that as much as he wants that place back he'll do nothing to take it.

It inspires the happiest sadness he's ever known.

"Oh my _God!_" their mother shouts from the house.

"Found it," Malcolm says, tearing his gaze from the stars to share a grin with Reese.

If they strain their ears, they can hear their dad offering a placating 'Now, honey, let's be in a good mood until the drive home. Then you can scream as much as you want, I promise.'

Their mom takes the deal; "Malcolm, get in here right now!"

"Guess I better get going," Malcolm says, heaving himself off the table. He waits a second to see if Reese will follow, then makes his way towards the front of the house.

"Kick Harvard ass," Reese calls after him.

Malcolm turns briefly to wave, and continues on his way.

He couldn't see where the car was parked while he was laid across the table, but he can hear the motor start, disrupting the night. And, were he to stand up onto the table, he could see its bright lights fading down the street as it slips away.


End file.
